


His

by Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me



Series: Destiel Feels [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Dean-Centric, Destiel - Freeform, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Fallen Castiel, Flashbacks, Human Castiel, Love, M/M, POV Dean Winchester, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2014-12-09
Packaged: 2018-02-28 19:29:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2744348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me/pseuds/Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Dean looks over Castiel, he remembers how it all began.  He remembers how they met,  how they fell in love-- how Cas saved him.  Dean remembers everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His

**Author's Note:**

> *Trigger warning*

        He looks him over as he lays there—long and lean, his arms resting gently at his sides. Dean reaches out and runs his fingers through his hair, loving the way the tendrils feel against his skin. He has always loved it, he can admit that now. He thinks back to when they first met, before he had the chance to touch him—to _feel_ Cas’s warmth; not just in his hold, but in his words, in his efforts, in his _everything_. There were a few days in the beginning when all Dean did was fear him. He felt justified in his fear, _why not?_ This guy was an angel! Dean had never seen one before, he didn’t know how to kill it … he was helpless against it. Up until that moment in the barn, he thought angels were something the past created, they weren’t real.

        But they _were_ real, and were to be riddled throughout his future. Dean winces now when he thinks of all the harm they caused. All the harm they caused _Cas_. It almost doesn’t seem fair to call him one of them—he’s better than the angels. He’s better than the gods, or _the God._ There isn’t a name for what Castiel is to the world. _Well_ , Dean smiles, of course there is, _Cas is his_. Ever since they finally rid Dean’s skin of the mark, and maybe even before that—Cas was his. It took Cas to do it, after all– well, _most_ of him. Most of his grace was put into the spell that freed Dean from his curse, and what was left, left him as weak as he was when his grace was borrowed. But they finally won, and when the mark was gone and the world and the heavens, and even hell were slightly calm, they celebrated. Sammy left to get some extra supplies for the bunker, some treats and things for the happy occasion: beer, food, pie … _lots and lots of pie_. Dean and Cas stayed behind. Dean began cooking from the stuff they already had, and the silly angel offered to help. The memory warms him and Dean reaches out to stroke Cas’s hand as he rests, thinking about how _little_ help he actually was that night. The guy was useless in a kitchen. He just sat there and looked curiously at every utensil, every spatula and every whisk—asking the origin of its name, and lecturing on more efficient designs.

        When it came down to the actual _cooking_ , Cas couldn’t even taste test for shit. Dean gave up on the guy being his sous chef and settled on having just a second opinion on his spaghetti sauce. Castiel proceeded to tell him the type of dirt the tomatoes were grown in. Dean remembers snickering, not wanting to hear that his prized sauce tasted like _soil_ and _cow crap._ Cas comforted him by explaining how it wasn’t _all_ dirt—he could taste a particular type of earth worm as well, and that gave the sauce a nice salty flavor. Dean laughed. He laughed harder and louder than he had in a long time. He laughed until his sides hurt, and the angel laughed with him. In his joy, Dean wrapped the guy in a hug. In his overwhelming moment of ease and peace, he planted a friendly peck on Cas’s cheek; and in Castiel’s way of always overstepping, always misreading a human situation, _always_ going a bit too far without thinking, he leaned in and kissed Dean’s lips.

        Dean bends down and does the same now to his angel’s forehead, leaving a slight sheen across his pale skin. The memory pours over him—how shocked he was at first, how he pulled away from the guy, looking him over … how Cas looked frightened and confused. The angel started to apologize, telling Dean that he thought it was okay. Cas thought that since Dean kissed his cheek, it was an invitation to be kissed back. He began rambling off about the human customs he had observed and all the incidents in books and film when one kiss usually led to two kisses, and _so on_. Dean watched as the angel squirmed in his shoes and panicked about yet, _another_ misstep. Dean felt bad for him. He didn’t like seeing the guy so worked up, not over a stupid kiss. A kiss, that overall, didn’t really seem _that_ stupid. So Dean shut him up. He stopped the angel from ranting and making himself feel worse. But Dean didn’t talk it out like he normally had in the past, and he didn’t offer him an understanding look followed by a shrug of his shoulders. He tried something new and found it was _much more_ effective. He leaned in close and pressed their lips together once more.

        They kissed, and they hugged, and they pulled each other in again and again. Dean laughs. If he had known it would be that much fun making out with _a dude angel,_ he would have done it a long time ago. It probably would have put him in a better mood. Dean looks over the blue eyed, soft, kind, selfless man … _his_ angel. Even though, he’s not an angel anymore. He hasn’t been for a long time. The old grace faded. It almost killed him. Dean remembers nearly going out of his mind when he found out that Cas might be taken away. It was all Sammy could do to keep his brother together while trying to find a way to save Castiel. Thank God for that tall, moose of a sibling. Dean honestly doesn’t know what he would have done without him. When Cas walked into that study—when he told them that he only had a few days left, told them that the last hints of his grace were strangling him out, Dean lost it. They had only been together for a few months at that point, but to Dean, it was his entire life. His entire life was coming in and saying it was about to be washed away. Sam, at that point, didn’t know about them; but Dean is pretty sure now, when Sam saw him collapse to the floor, when he saw Dean break at the thought of losing Cas—that’s when he knew that Dean loved the guy. They officially came out and told him later. Sam just nodded. He nodded and smiled in that smartass way of his, as if to say “Yeah, I know. _I’ve always known_.” He probably did too. That guy knows too much for his own, damn good.

        Sam was the one who saved Castiel. He found some ancient texts and connected the invisible dots that led him to a spell, a spell that would keep Cas alive, alive _but human_. Hannah helped from heaven. Cas was able to use his last bits of his grace to transmit a message to her over angel radio. She immediately sent down other angels to help them get what they needed; the usual _weird shit_ that only God thinks is important: dirt from some gravesite in Israel, a crest from some Egyptian pharaoh … a half a dozen other, crazy, impossible things. But the angels came together and got it all; more angels than even Hannah had intended were there to help. _Hundreds_ of them came out to make sure Castiel lived. Dean remembers the look on the guy’s face when he realized that he wasn’t hated by all his old kin. In fact, it was quite the opposite—many praised him for all that he had done. They wanted him to be happy. They performed their spell and Dean stood on the outskirts, wringing his hands, hating how helpless he felt. He stared at the blue eyes that were locked on him, unblinking, powerful, still full of hope even though there was no guarantee the enchantment would work. Even as Cas laid there dying, he was still hopeful and comforting Dean. He was still protecting his charge.

        Tears collect in his eyes as he thinks back. The moment the spell was finished and the color ran back into Cas’s face … the moment Dean broke through the crowd of angels and collected the love of his life in his arms. The moment he kissed the man until they both could hardly breathe—it was the best moment of his life.

        “You hear me, Cas? It was the _best_ moment of my life” he whispers.

        Dean strokes Cas’s wrist, trailing a line down to his fingers before lightly laying his hand across them. He smiles down at him, thinking over the past two years, how many hunts they went on. How many times he saved the guy, and how Cas quickly learned human ways to save _him_ too. It was hard, but he learned; he learned and he got good at it. He is so proud of him. Dean thinks about the life they’ve shared, the bed they’ve shared … how normal it all became, even though, Dean thought he could never have _normal_. He never thought he could have happiness or love, or a life outside of hunting and killing. He thought that his world was doomed to be bathed in red. Dean thought that for as long as he lived, he would never actually _live_. Castiel changed that. The angel showed him how to smile. _His_ angel showed him how to breathe, how to relax. Cas showed him what love could do for the soul … he showed him that the very first moment he touched Dean in hell. Dean smiles and wipes away the stray tear that slides down his cheek. He leans over once more and places a soft kiss on the man’s lips. With a gentle hand, he wraps the sheet around him. Dean covers him up until he can no longer see Cas’s face. After a long, ragged breath, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his lighter. In a moment, the corner of the pyre is glowing in a whisping flame. Dean steps back, feeling his knees fail beneath him. He falls to the ground as he watches his angel get the hunter’s burial he said he always wanted.


End file.
